


Coffee-Stained Sheets

by skeletonstories



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonstories/pseuds/skeletonstories
Summary: One boy, writing on lined sheets, putting his thoughts on paper in the beautiful form of music notes.One boy, writing on cheap paper cups, putting his thoughts on said paper cups.





	

"Yuri!"

I sigh at the familiar voice calling my name, strongly accented, then again, I can't speak, mines is probably just as heavily noticeable. The only reason I notice his accent is because he's from a different part of Russia than me, a richer area.

"Yes, Vikya?" I shout back from the kitchen, turning the tap off so I can hear what he's saying.

"I need you out front, Mila just stormed off."

I withhold yet another sigh at the mention of the stupid hag, who saunters off whenever she doesn't get her way.

"Yes, Vikya."

Viktor is the owner of this stupid place. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely shop, and the coffee smells beautiful. It's the staff that piss me off.

Whether it's Viktor's constant over-enthusiasm, or Mila's pettiness, or JJ's constant self-obsessive behavior, they just constantly get on my nerves.

Then again, the coffee is amazing. That's why we have an assortment of awards, including one titled 'Europe's Best Coffee' which seems a bit over the top to me. I mean, what if there's an 11 year old kid that makes the best coffee somewhere in Finland? But, the award is official, and it pulls in a hell of a lot of customers.

I walk out from the hidden away kitchen where I had been washing cups, and begin to make my way around the cafe, writing down people's orders as I go from table to table. The cafe, as always, is full, not a seat available anywhere. That's how it always is at 'Niki's Coffee'.

I traipse over to one of the corner tables, where a lone man is sitting, hunched over sheets of paper, pen scribbling down black squiggly lines. Upon a closer look, I notice them to be music notes.

"Can I take your order, Sir?" I ask, politely. He doesn't reply, doesn't even look up. I cough, slightly, catching his attention.

"Can I help you?" He asks, his accent unclear, not Russian, anyways.

"I asked if I could take your order."

"Ah right, just coffee please, black, no sugar." And with that, he immediately gets back to writing whatever it was he was doing before. I mentally restrain myself from scowling as I go to the next few tables. Why are waiters always treated like trash? We slave away ensuring the customer is always freaking happy. Well, at least he said please.

I shout the orders over to Phichit, who is stuck with the unfortunate position of vending the coffee. He's the one who gets screamed at if a customer doesn't like their order. Not by Viktor, of course, but by Yakov, who watches over the cafe, and takes care of all the financials.

He's actually nice enough, and he doesn't actually scream at Phichit. I don't think anyone screams at Phichit. He more just gently scolds him.

A few minutes later, I'm making my rounds around the cafe again, this time handing out the orders. I save one for last.

With one mug left on my tray, I make my way over to the man who is writing, and place the mug in front of him.

"Thanks." He says, quietly, still deep in concentration.

"Do you play?" I regret the question as soon as I've said it, and I await the scolding that's sure to follow. Waiters shouldn't converse with their customers, unless asked. But to my surprise, the scolding doesn't come.

"Yes."

"Piano?" I notice the two clefs, which not all instruments have, and the most obvious guess would of course be piano. He pauses writing, and sits his pen down, turning his head to look up at me.

"Yeah. Do you play?"

I shake my head. "I took lessons when I was a kid, but I hated it. I mean, I love the sound of it, I just could never play."

"Hm. Do you play any instruments then?"

"I can play the triangle." I cringe at my stupid attempt at humor, but I see a slight smile show up against his face.

"What's your name?" He asks, turning his attention back to the music.

"Yuri. Yours?"

"This coffee was meant to be 'to-go'. I did specify." He ignores my question.

"Oh-Um, sorry about that." I stumble over my words, feeling a heat rise up in my cheeks. I must've been too caught up in my own thoughts. He smiles, passing the mug back.

"It's all good, mind putting it in a paper cup for me?"

"Sure." I take it, and bring it back to the kitchen. When I lift up the mug to pour it into a cup, a piece of paper lies on top of the saucer, where the mug had been covering it. A series of digits occupy it, a phone number. Okay, now I know I'm blushing.

I take the paper cup back out, but to my dismay, he's gone. How strange.

I hope he comes back.


End file.
